


The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

by LadyElebreth



Category: Captain America, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), ant man - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Shameless Christmas Fluff :D, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 00:23:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5476103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyElebreth/pseuds/LadyElebreth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas+Avengers=awesome (this is still a work in progress. sorry for the delays:/)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Invitations

**Author's Note:**

> So CHRISTMAS IS FIVE DAYS AWAY AND HERE I AM POSTING SOMETHING THAT HOPEFULLY I WILL KEEP WORKING ON. I AM SO PUMPED. AND YEAH, SCOTT IS IN THERE. ANT MAN SCOTT.  
> SCOTT IS GREAT.  
> CAPITAL LETTERS.  
> *a work in progress :D*

I know what Christmas is really about—all the perks, the gifts, parties, and trees; they're just that: perks.

All holidays are usually bound to how they've been carried out for years past. Every family usually has a tradition, and every family likes to stick to it.

That's one thing about humans that never fails to amuse me.

They spend so much time rushing around, trying to be perfect and make sure everything around them is perfect; sometimes so much that they lose sight of themselves. They usually end up falling flat on their faces when they realize how imperfect that they really are.

But I like imperfection.

That's why I'm glad that some things, like the assumption that a family should be related, are always up for interpretation.

After all, I'm a clairvoyant; I'm pretty sure that I've broken pretty much every rule regarding how you're supposed to properly deal with people, anyway. Or with Christmas.

But it's not like I ever really knew just what to do on Christmas to begin with. 

When I was still little, Dad and I didn't get to spend many Christmases together. He would usually have events to go to, Pepper would visit her mother, and yours truly would find herself at the Barton homestead. And when I first went to live with Dad, I can remember maybe two times I went to a holiday charity ball with him or something. Having everyone gush over me as a way of sucking up to Dad wasn't very enjoyable, but thank goodness those days are over.

Since I got my own place in D.C. (and the loft in Manhattan), I usually fly out to Dad and Pepper's house in Malibu, so I can spend Christmas with them. But this year, I've got a few different plans.

Last Christmas, almost everyone crashed at the tower—Clint went home to Laura and the kids, but of course Nat and I were the only ones who knew that. Being around everyone then, I know I was a little naïve. I thought I'd always be sitting with the same people; smiling back at the same faces. But that was just a dream. A good dream.

But dreams don't last forever. Nothing does.

This year, we'll be missing some old faces, but there will be new ones. Things will be different. This time around, I won't be my room in Malibu, listening to Bing Crosby without a care in the world. I won't be talking to JARVIS like I used to while I wrapped gifts for just Dad, Pepper, and Happy.

Ever since Dad, Clint, Thor, and Bruce left the team, we've took on several new members practically overnight. Rhodey, Sam, and the twins joined up with Natasha, Steve and I back in May. Then there's Scott. Sam brought him into the picture. Everyone but me is still trying to figure the guy out. I just looked into his mind, made some calls, and that was that. Gran said that if he's a friend of Dr. Pym's, then he's okay. And Scott's little girl is also probably the cutest thing I've ever seen, so I rest my case.

I think I probably would've trusted Scott no matter what he'd done, even if I only knew Cassie. But I'm willing to forgive whatever her dad did or didn't do in his past. He's starting from the ground up all over again, after all.

If there's anything I absolutely love, it's the people who fight even when they have nothing to bring to the table but themselves. I will always respect those people. I love to surround myself with them; brilliant, broken messes that they are. And the realization that my weird family has kind of doubled in size is a pretty great one.

That same realization has been with me all day. It's not a bad one, really. And today, I'm not at Malibu Point while I think on it. And sadly, I'm not in my D.C. apartment, either. The furnace is broken there and the landlady wouldn't answer any of the tenant's calls, so I'm stuck in Manhattan for the winter. 

But at least I get to wrap presents. For the past two hours, I've been parked on the carpet in my bedroom; armed with wrapping paper and a tape gun. Inevitably, I had to barricade the door so Pietro couldn't run into it and break it down. As it turns out, Christmas in general (and the bowl of Andes mints I was stupid enough to put on the coffee table) makes him hyper. That's kinda the reason why I borrowed Bucky for the afternoon. I'm giving him twenty bucks to just sit with his back against the door while he helps me wrap everyone's gifts. So even if Pietro did get in, he wouldn't get very far.

In two hours, everyone's gifts were wrapped—all the adults, that is. It wasn't until I saw the small pile of toys that I remembered.

"Hey Buck," I pressed down the last piece of tape on the box I'd just wrapped, "I'm going to call Scott and see if he has visitation with Cassie on the 24th. Can you pass me my phone?"

Bucky had parked it on my bed about an hour ago; he was laying with his head off the foot of the mattress, reading a book. When I mentioned Cassie, his eyes visibly brightened. He bounded off the bed. "I'll dial for you," he offered, taking the phone from nightstand.

Bucky's like me, meaning that he's private about who he is and what he does. Even though Nick is trying to privately clear him of any charges because of what HYDRA made him do, Bucky's still trying to live as quietly as he possibly can. But when most people—especially kids—find out that he's _the_ James Barnes, they absolutely go nuts. 

Kids who know anything about Steve and who he grew up with absolutely love Bucky, even though Bucky keeps pointing them all to Steve. But even though he's not quite as outgoing as he was seventy years ago, he still loves kids, too. Sometimes, he stops people on the street just so he can tell them that their children are adorable. When we brought Scott here from California, Cassie came up in several conversations until I finally convinced him to bring her along. And when she met Bucky for the first time, she practically glued herself to him.

Later, Scott told me how excited she'd been when she said to her mom that she got to meet Captain America, his best friend and his girlfriend. Frankly, that last part confused all of us. Especially since she never clarified just who's girlfriend she thought I was.

Natasha is going to have a field day with that one, I thought as I spread out a sheet of wrapping paper for Cassie's first present.

Bucky had been holding my phone up to his ear as it rang, but he suddenly jerked it away and jumped off the bed. "Holy cow," he muttered, rubbing his ear.  
I could hear rap playing at full blast on the other end as someone, probably Scott, yelling at someone to turn that crap down.  
I shook my head, put the phone on speaker, and apologized to Bucky in advance as I inhaled and put my mouth to the microphone. "YO, SCOTT!!!"

Somebody yelled Scott's name in pretty much the same way I did, except for they added something along the lines of, I think your hot girlfriend needs to tell you somethin', man.  
Bucky and I heard a door slam and Scott's voice as cursed under his breath. He'd probably locked himself in the bathroom to get a moment's peace.  
"Sorry, Hope," he muttered, "I'm still using the landline."

I was about to tell him I wasn't Hank, but Bucky leaned over my shoulder. And then he said, in a perfect imitation of Steve, "Language, bug breath."

He seemed so enormously pleased with himself that I laughed. "Well-played," I stuck my tongue out at him. "How long did it take you to think of that one; like three days?" Yeah, and I forgot that we were on speaker.

"What—" Scott cut himself off, then: "Wait, is that you, Rory?"

"It is," I acknowledged, jumping back down to my work station on the carpet. "I was wondering if you were busy."

He scoffed. "If by busy, you mean trying to find an apartment, then yeah, pretty darn."

"Well, I was calling to ask you something," I dragged a box of LEGO bricks over to the wrapping paper and set the phone down. "You have visitation on the 24th, right?"

I had assumed correctly. I could tell from his shocked silence.

"Yeah, I do," Scott said finally, "How did you know that I finally got—"

"She did her witchy thing," Bucky called, and I shushed him with a very unwitchy look before I went back to the phone. "My parents and some of my friends are coming to my place on Christmas Eve for a sort of . . . expected gathering, I guess."

I held out my hand towards the tape gun and it pressed itself into my palm a second later. "If you didn't have anything already planned, I was wondering if you wanted to come, and if Cassie would like to come with you."  
I hesitated, then added, "And you can invite the Pyms, too."

"If your dad is going to be there, then Hope and Hank will probably say 'no.' Or at least, Hank will," Scott told me, then added, "no offense. I think your Dad's pretty cool, though."

I sighed. Even though I never met him, I have a ton of respect for everyone on Dad's side of the family, but apparently, Dr. Pym still doesn't. I know exactly what happened between Grandad and Hank, but Dad doesn't.  
And I think it's probably better that he never does, because he's more like Howard than he thinks.  
It just goes to show you that some of the members in my family were and still are too smart and too well-meaning for their own good.

"Well, I'm serving food, not booze," I clarified as I got back to wrapping Cassie's gift, "but Dad will probably show up, anyway; and so will my all my other friends."

Bucky was handing me a bow to stick on the box when we heard something on Scott's line that sounded an awful lot like a shower rod falling down.

"You're inviting Captain America and the Avengers to a Christmas party?"

He'd taken the bait.

"Basically, I'm inviting Captain America and the Avengers to eat dinner," I corrected, laughing a little, "half of them already practically live here, anyway. I'd invite Thor, too, but I might cause a security breach in Asgard if I did."

I seriously had considered it. But some very angry WSC members might've showed up at my door if I had paged the god of thunder on my own.

Scott whistled softly. "Cassie's going to freak when I tell her," he sounded pretty excited. He also sounded like he was trying to put the shower curtain back up. "Okay...uh, I'll have to borrow the van from Luis—"

"No, you won't," I told him. "The highways will be a mess. You can take a company charter." 

"Wait, what? You have a—" 

"Look, be at Hank's. I'll call Happy, he'll come get you and Cassie and take you to the airport, and Bob's your uncle." 

The shower curtain fell down again. "One of Tony Stark's jets...are you kidding me..."

One of my jets, actually. But I decided to just give this one to Dad. Just this once.

"Uh-huh. And non-stop, which means you'll get here faster than you think," I answered as I gave Cassie's finished gift to Bucky. He set it down with the others we'd piled in the corner.

I could tell Scott was still geeking out. "Hope will probably come if she knows Cassie is. And I'll ask Hank. Maybe he'll say yes."

"Okay, thanks man," I hung up and scrolled back through to recent calls, then I remembered.

"Oh, hey. Come here, Buck," I reached into my back pocket and deposited a wad of dollar bills into his waiting palm. "Thanks for helping me," I said as I hit my favorite contact, " I just have one more person to call."

I put the phone to my ear and turned off the speaker.  
"You've reached Assisted Living Services for Washington D.C.," greeted a voice on the other end, "how may we help you?"

I smiled to myself.

"Hello, can you put me through to Ms. Carter's room?" I asked. "Please tell her it's her granddaughter calling."


	2. Grace Under Mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We know what happens when Natasha gets involved in someone's love life...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is kind of a mess and completely an AU. Sorry for any confusion.

She does it to me every time. It never fails. She always lures me to the kitchen.  
She knows my guard is usually down when I'm cooking. And what better time of the year than at Christmas time, when I practically live in my kitchen?  
She knows what she's doing. She always gets me busy, then when I least expect it, she jumps in to help me, and BAM. She hits me with it.

Or rather, them.  
What are they, you ask?  
Questions. Lots of very difficult Natasha questions that I don't have the time to even think about answering, because they are questions about my non-existent lovelife.

I realize that she's only trying to help me. It's kind of hardwired into her DNA to make sure I get through life; hence, she probably knows me better than anyone. I mean, she's known me since I was in pull-ups, for goodness' sake; she has a right to make sure I get stuff done and take care of myself.

But that does not give her the permission to give me little talks. I know exactly what she's doing. Because she did the same thing to Steve once. And that's how the two of us officially even met—Nat introduced us. And she never suggested another girl to him ever again. Either that means she ships us, or she thinks her work is done, I don't know.

She's good. Too good.

But if she thinks Steve and I are seriously dating, then she's wrong. As wrong as it is for a hippie shrink and a Soviet assassin to be baking Christmas cookies.

Because that's exactly what we're doing right now. Almost everyone is coming to Soho tommorow, so Natasha has taken it upon herself to help me cook today. And so have Bucky and Steve, later. They said they had something super important to take care of.

I didn't bother to find out what it was. Because if I had, I might have talked them out of it without meaning to. And then they would be here. And they would be pumped by Natasha, too.

Oh, and wouldn't that make everything just perfect, I thought, agitated as I opened the fridge, scanning the inside of it for the carton of half-and-half.

"Hey, Rory," Natasha's voice broke through my little reverie, "you know you're shaking the refrigerator, right?"

I was—the shelves inside of it were rattling. It took effort, but I calmed myself down.

Cookies, Stark, I told myself, you're making cookies; take out the eggs.

The first thing we were going to knock out were a few desserts—the boys were going to help us with the actual food. I set the carton of eggs on the counter and gestured at the cabinets behind me—a mixing bowl landed next to the sink a second later.

"So," Natasha murmured suddenly, "this years' been...fun."

I managed a small smile. It sort of amuses me whenever Natasha tries to be sentimental. She's not very good at it. "I guess so."

She was quiet for a moment, but then she dragged the mixing bowl across the counter. "You know—"

Okay, I'm forming a posse and heading her off at the pass this time.

"Natalia Alianovna Romanov, don't you dare start talking to me about a certain army veteran who wears red, white, and blue," I interrupted immediately, slapping my hand against the countertops for emphasis. "I don't need that right now."

She scoffed, grinning. "Well now, that's just rude." I know I sounded like a complete jerk. But I know Natasha better than she knows herself. So I also know she wasn't really offended at all. But she certainly wasn't giving up.

"C'mon, Ro," she smiled a little this time as she said it, "if you....it's not like you're breaking any rules. I think it's kinda nice, you two. Besides, I know pretty much every agent on the books feared the very ground you tred upon; getting a date is a major accomplishment for you."

I tore open a bag of cookie mix, barely resisting the urge to roll my eyes. Because that's actually true, y'see. 

Thanks to Natasha herself, most of the public knows what Tony Stark's little girl used to do for a living. And now, the world that supposedly knew me so well is still realizing that it never knew me at all. People wonder why I would ever have worked with PTSD patients or SHIELD agents prone to anxiety attacks when my dad is the most loaded person on this planet. They get the activism, the clean water and mosquito net organizations in Africa, and the program I've been pushing for unwed mothers. They expect things like that from me.

I can more than afford to fund them. And as far as they're concerned, I can throw my inheritance at whatever meaningless pastime or pursuit that I want. But when I want to get my hands dirty and do something that's really important, that's another story.

You can imagine that I haven't really come in contact with anyone worth my time. Because I just never _had_ the time, or the patience, really. But then Steve came along. Then Sam, and Bucky. And Pietro. Pietro is a flirt, but I get along great with the rest of them. I love just being...comfortable. It makes me feel just like one of the guys. Still, Natasha thinks I've set my sights on Steve.

Yeah, I know.

So what that we've gone out running and stopped for coffee a couple of times? Friends can do that, c'mon! It doesn't mean he likes me or anything. All it did was give us an excuse to get off our butts and out of our apartments, because we were both bored out of our minds. 

"Running around D.C. and two trips to Starbucks are not dates," I muttered as I cracked eggs into a bowl with the cookie mix, because I knew she was thinking of it. 

Nat raised an eyebrow as she got out the rolling pin for later use. "He asked you out. And he paid for them both times, Ro. And he's also the one who invited you to the bookstore the very next day."  
She stood back from the stove and pointed at me with the roller. "He's a gentleman. You know it."

Her thoughts were much louder than her voice, and I raised an eyebrow, smiling a little.  
"You know, your mouth is saying 'gentleman,' but your eyes and your mind are kind of saying something more like...'babe.' "

She actually laughed as she measured oil to add to the bowl. "Hey, I'm only human. And you're the one that basically said the same thing when you showed me that picture of him as a ninety-pound asmathic in 1942."

My head fell back, and I groaned.  
"You'd better not bring that up," I warned her, but it was too late.

" 'You can't seriously expect me to believe that no woman wanted to go out with this beautiful little blue-eyed punk,' " she quoted, mimicking my voice flawlessly, " 'look at him!' "

I gave her a look. "Yeah, and I'll say that to his face if I have to; it's the truth. But Nat, I swear to you, there's really nothing going on with me and Steve," I protested, putting my hand out towards the oven—it immediately started preheating. I added, then, thinking better of it: "Or Bucky."

Natasha scrunched up her nose as if she'd smelled something rotten. "told me as she poured oil into the bowl. "Bucky and Steve, on the other hand, they count. Especially them."

I exhaled loudly. Geez, she really had me cornered this time.  
"Forget about Bucky, okay? The poor guy has too much to deal with to even think about getting into a relationship."

She gave me that look, the one that says I-look-confused-but-I'm-really-not-because-I-know-you're-lying. "But isn't he doing so much better now? I mean, he loves being around you." 

Using a spoon, I halfheartedly poked at the mess before me.  
Bucky was, in many ways, still a very damaged human being. But everyone was amazed at how much I'd been able to help him, both mentally and physically. He wasn't a silent, raging wreck who was doing all he could to just hold it together.  
His mind finally holds whole memories. He's hit the ground running, and he's not stopping.

But he'll never be the same.

Steve and I both know, Bucky is not fully himself. There are things Zola and others did to him that will never be erased, never worked out. He's not fully the Winter Soldier, but he's also not fully James Barnes. He's something else. Something new. And that something new is not into me. Maybe he might have been, had I been born at least ninety years ago; if I'd gotten to know him before he was drafted. But not now. 

"Bucky is...just a friend, too. Because besides Dad, Gran and Pep, that's all I have, Nat. Friends. I have you and Wanda, all the guys, and V. That's my lot in life."

One end of Nat's round mouth curved upward. "Pretty great friends though, if I do say so myself." She proceeded to count off on her fingers: "PTSD victims, soldiers who don't know how to stop fighting, insomniacs who are fraying at the edges, an alien, and a bunch of orphans who forget half the time that they even are orphans. "

She had me there, but I wasn't about to let her know it. "I have a weird yen for misfits?" I giggled as I started to stir the mix.

Natasha shook her head. She just let me laugh. "You know how you tell which one of the boys is interested in you?"

"Besides reading their minds without their express permission, no," I started mixing a little more vehemently, but she didn't take the hint. She just went ahead and poked the bear with the stick.

"What if I just went to a plant nursery and asked to see their Christmas greenery? What if I bought out all of their misletoe with the berries and everything, and then I just started hanging it in every single doorway in here?"

I could feel my eyebrows bouncing halfway to Mars. "Why in the brown-eyed world would you do that?"

She grinned, taking the bowl of cookie dough from me. "Whoever kisses you first loses," she explained.

Wow. Only Natasha. 

"That's an evil, terrible idea for more than one reason, the first one being you know Pietro would suddenly have hunger pangs, come along at the wrong time, and ingest poisonous berries." 

She actually laughed out loud at that. "Oh, then I'm totally doing it."

I gave her a look. "Over my dead body. Now hand me that bag of flour over there and shut up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Recommedations?


End file.
